


there's no better love

by cmbing



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, jake and amy and baby makes three, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmbing/pseuds/cmbing
Summary: “He’s such a Santiago,” Jake had remarked, watching Leo sit in the baby carrier strapped to his wife’s chest as her pen flitted across a piece of paper.Amy looked down at her son; his eyelids began to droop. “Sleeping while doing paperwork? I think he’s all yours.”(or, jake and amy and glimpses into parenthood)
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 19
Kudos: 128





	there's no better love

**Author's Note:**

> i have officially jumped on the leo peralta train. but also consider: levi peralta. that's for next time.

** i.  **

His world grows seven pounds heavier. 

Yet, he has never felt lighter. 

He looks down at the bundle of his arms and is met with blinking brown eyes, wide, so wide and like Amy's. Jake thinks he might drown, fall into the swirl of emotion that laps at his heart and floods his veins; he almost wouldn’t mind. It’s consuming, how he loves his son in a way that he did not know he could, uncurling in his chest with pleasant warmth. 

Five tiny fingers curl around his thumb, and it’s as if they have already come to an agreement: _I will never let you go_. He brings his lips to his son’s dewy forehead, feels the brush of soft hair against his nose, and takes a steady breath. Outside of the room, the world hustles and bustles, the crash of life lived and life began. But in here, they are untouchable, held within their own universe, an orbit that has realigned within the past few hours; two planets become three. 

Next to him, his wife gently sleeps. Her hair sprawls across white pillows, and she looks to be smiling, a content curve to her lips. He thinks, she has never looked more beautiful. 

“You have the best mom in the world,” Jake whispers, half-wondering aloud. “And I’ll try to be the best dad, but your mom, bud? She’s already perfect.”

He watches Leo sleepily look up, eyelids threatening to slide shut, but the newborn tries to look at Jake. Jake knows the feeling: he’s not sure if he will ever be able to stop staring at his son, learn and remember the pinkness to his cheeks and golden hue to his eyes and the sweet, roundness of his face. He thinks he would never sleep again if it meant looking at his son, figuring out which feature belongs to Jake and which belongs to Amy. Perhaps, Leo’s hair will curl; perhaps, he’ll have his mother’s smile. 

“We’ve wanted you for so long,” Jake continues to whisper. “And we couldn’t be happier that you’re here.”

Leo starts to doze off, lulled by his father’s gentle timbre. Jake continues to hold him just as tightly, amazed that he already feels so secure to his son, like a second home. “I can’t wait to teach you about _Die Hard_ and the _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_. Only when you’re older though, because your mom will get mad at me if I show them to you when you’re still so little. And I like keeping her happy.”

He says, “And someday, we will go to the precinct. That’s where all your aunts and uncles are. They’re so excited to meet you. You’re already so loved, Leo.”

He hears Amy begin to softly stir. Jake turns to look at her, a quiet smile on his face and a content newborn in his arms, already so natural and at ease. Like it’s meant to be, like it was always supposed to be this way.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs.

He says, “Just talking to my son.”

** ii. **

The first day that Amy’s maternity leave ends, Jake gets the day off.

And Amy doesn’t mind it—no, in fact she welcomes it, still not truly ready to leave their little one at home with a sitter, even if it is her parents or Karen. She selfishly wants to keep Leo to herself, marvel at how quickly he seems to grow within just days and weeks. They’ve developed a tight-knit schedule, Leo and her, of when he wants to nap or feed or listen to Amy pour over casework that Jake sneaks home to her.

“He’s such a Santiago,” Jake had remarked, watching Leo sit in the baby carrier strapped to his wife’s chest as her pen flitted across a piece of paper.

Amy looked down at her son; his eyelids began to droop. “Sleeping while doing paperwork? I think he’s all yours.”

That morning, she feels tempted to leave Jake a laminated copy of her schedule, but Jake seems to read her mind: “We’re fine, babe. I’ll feed him at nine, put him down for a nap at one, read him a book at three—“

“Make sure you warm the bottle to—“

“98.6 degrees, I know.” His hand covers hers, giving it a light squeeze. “I’ll call you if I need anything. Which I won’t. Because I’m an amazing detective slash genius slash dad.”

Amy smiles at that, reveling in the confidence that Jake now carries when it comes to being a parent. At one point he was concerned, thought the Peralta genes destined him to fatherhood failure. Now, he glows, relishes the moments he gets with his son, and continues to be better and better. 

He brushes a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Have a good day at work, honey. The squad missed having you around.”

And she does enjoy the day, falling back into the rhythm of being a sergeant and overseeing her beat cops. Perhaps, Charles fawns over her a bit too much, and Terry can’t stop asking about baby pictures, and even Rosa quietly asks how her godson is doing, but it feels good to put on the uniform again. It’s strange, she considers over lunch, how a mere few years ago, her life aligned solely with her work. Now, her two greatest loves reside in a Brooklyn apartment just a few blocks away.

She can’t help but glance over at the clock every few minutes, yearning for it to be six p.m. so she can gather her stuff and head home. 3:15, then 4:45, then 5:50. She jumps up at 5:55, quickly heading upstairs to grab her coffee mug she left to dry earlier (Jake kindly woke up before her just so he could make her a first day back to work breakfast).

Amy bumps into Holt, his expression unreadable. He says, “Heading out early, Santiago?”

She glances at her phone. 5:56 p.m. It’s so uncharacteristic of her, but she rambles, “It’s Jake’s first time being left alone with Leo, and I want to make sure everything is fine, and _of course_ , they are. Jake is a perfectly competent father, and I trust him implicitly—we have a very modern marriage, Captain, and it’s not like I view Jake as a babysitter, he’s Leo’s _dad_ and—“ 

Holt smiles. “You miss them.”

Amy slowly nods. “Yes… yes, I do.”

He gives her a look that’s almost fatherly, warm and proud. “Go home, Sergeant. I will see you tomorrow.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before spinning on her heels and heading for the elevator.

And when she gets home, unlocking their front door and kicking off her heels, Amy comes face to face with what she soon decides is her favorite sight: Jake dozed off on the couch with Leo tightly gathered in his father’s arms, tucking his small face into the dip of Jake’s chest. It amazes her how they seem to… _fit_. How being a father has always been a natural extension of Jake himself. 

He likes to be goofy, laugh and make jokes. Place bets and tease his friends and always go for the last punchline. 

But then, there’s also this, something serious and protective. 

Amy feels it herself: his hand on the small of her back, calling her _my wife_ with his sharp tongue, standing just close enough. She knows it’s futile to say she doesn’t need it; he does it anyway, a sixth sense per se. And when it comes to Leo, he holds on tighter, whispering soft reassurances and speaking of his son. My son, my son, my son.

She loves him for it. With every breath, she loves him.

It’s temping to take a picture of this serene moment, but she tries to remember it instead: Jake in his grey plaid shirt, Leo in his onesie with bear ears that Amy indulgently bought. It is easiness and deep affection, and Amy can’t help but press a kiss to Jake’s forehead. He smiles before he opens his eyes.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Have a good day?”

“Mhmm.” Her thumb sweeps over Leo’s back. “But it’s even better now.”

“I did it,” he softly grins, nodding towards their son. “I was a good dad.”

“You always are,” she assures.

His eyes are warm, like sunlight on oak, when he looks at her, comforting and the feeling of coming home. “I love you,” he says simply.

“I know,” she smiles back.

To know and to love—how different can they really be?

** iii. **

They wake up to crying. 

Jake mumbles, “It’s your turn.”

Amy elbows him in the side. “No, it’s _your_ turn.”

“I got him last time.”

“I think I remember who got him last time—and it wasn’t me.”

“He’s going to want you to rock him.”

“He’s going to want you to sing to him.”

Jake’s eyes reluctantly open. He flops over to his other side and looks at Amy. “If you get up with me, I’ll massage your feet tomorrow evening.”

“Deal.”

They unceremoniously throw off their covers and pad over to the nursery. In the dark of the night, their alarm clocks softly glow with green numbers: 3:34 a.m. Jake lets out a groan; it doesn’t get any easier. 

But when they walk into Leo’s room and look at him lying in his crib with his mused hair and ruddy cheeks, life has never felt clearer. Everything they do now, it goes back to him, their son. It still sometimes hits Jake all over again that they have a son: perfect and whole and the product of their undying love.

“Hey, baby,” Amy says softly, lifting Leo into her arms, “what’s going on?”

Leo’s eyes glaze with tears.

“Don’t you want to sleep, little man?” Jake holds Amy from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and cupping the back of Leo’s head.  “Or do you want daddy to sing a song?”

Amy side-eyes him. “You better not start rapping or that will rile him up.”

“Pssh, what. Rap? _Rap_? I wasn’t thinking of singing the 90's classic _Baby Got Back_ at all.”

“Of course not.” She fondly laughs. “Your dad’s pretty silly, isn’t he?”

Leo lets out another whimper. Amy says, “It’s why I love him. He makes me laugh.”

Now, Jake’s grinning, adoring warmth settling across his chest. “Your mom’s just being nice, because she definitely wasn’t laughing at my amazing prank yesterday.”

She whisper-yells, looking up at her husband. “You can’t write stuff like that on sticky notes! It’s not my fault it fell out of my binder and Charles found it.”

“But the look on Charles’ face was priceless!”

“He almost had a heart attack, Jake.”

“I think we made his day.”

“He shouldn’t know we do… _that_.”

“He’s told me way worse things.”

“That’s because he’s Charles!”

They suddenly notice an absence of whimpering and look back down at their son, who has since fallen asleep, softly breathing and his hands curling into tiny fists.

“Did we just bicker our child to sleep?” Amy asks.

Jake laughs into her shoulder. “I think so.”

“Just wait till our friends hear about this.”

“Gina will say, ‘I’ve been falling asleep to your bickering for the past nine years.’”

Amy smiles. “She will.” Then, gazing down at their sleeping son, “I know I should put him down, but I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“We’re so lucky, Jake.”

“We are.”

“All those months of trying—“

He finishes her sentence: “They were worth it.” He knows her so well; he always has.

Amy lightly presses her lips to Leo’s forehead. “Goodnight, Leo. We love you more than you’ll ever know.”

She gently places him down in his crib. Jake brushes his fingers against Leo’s shock of dark curls, trying to remember every second of this seemingly mundane moment; but it’s never mundane, it’s everything. Amy looks down at Leo, as if she wants to remember it all too. Jake wraps his arms around her waist and leans his chest against her back, pressing his lips into her hair. 

And in the early morning hours, they forget to be tired; instead, they watch, they love. 


End file.
